Her Eyes

Her Eyes — Like Still, Deep Lakes

Her eyes…

Those eyes —

Still as a lake at midnight,

Deep as forgotten dreams,

Were dear to me.

I watched them often,

Every evening, quietly,

As she sat on the edge of her rooftop,

Gazing — motionless,

Into the horizon’s fading line.

As though she were gathering dreams,

From the amber skies of twilight,

To fill the parted hair of the earth

With the sacred vermilion of dusk.

Maybe that’s why…

She stared so steadily

At that distant place

Where the sky bends down

To embrace the waiting arms of earth.

On her pale, expressionless face,

Those eyes —

And only those eyes —

Held life,

Held something that breathed.

They burned in the dark

Like twin lamps,

Soft flames dancing

In a quiet storm.

Or perhaps,

Like two lotuses in bloom

Floating in the center

Of a motionless lake —

No breeze,

No ripple,

No sound.

Only stillness.

Only longing.

Only eyes — watching the horizon.

And I?

I longed to enter that gaze.

To be the reflection that stirred

Upon the mirror of that lake.

To find a parallel

In her line of vision

Where I could plant my image —

A quiet silhouette

At the border of her sky and earth.

And then —

To see her pupils tremble,

To watch the still water of her gaze

Break into ripples —

Ripples born from me.

That joy, that dance of light —

I longed for it.

But no,

It never came.

She kept looking,

Without flinch,

Without pause,

At that endless edge

Where her dreams met the skies.

Then one day…

She did not come.

A strange unease stirred my soul.

The sky felt different.

The silence became heavier.

One day passed. Then two. Then ten.

Still, she didn’t return.

My heart, anxious,

Wandered through worries.

What had happened?

Why had she vanished

From her sacred post

Of watching the world’s end?

No answers came.

Days blurred into weeks.

She became

A shadow fading

Into the mists of my past.

Years later,

I walked again through that old alley,

Where every brick

Still whispered her name.

My eyes searched without asking,

Drawn by memory,

Longing for those deep-lake eyes—

Eyes that had once painted

My untouched, youthful dreams

In shades no artist could ever name.

I was lost in these memories

When something pierced my ears—

A phrase, a murmur, a cruel truth

That struck like lightning:

The eyes I once worshipped,

The eyes in which I had drowned,

The eyes I thought only I had known —

They now lit another world.

Before death claimed her,

She left behind her eyes —

A gift,

A legacy,

A pair of windows to light someone else’s darkness.

Now someone else sees

Through her eyes.

Someone walks, dreams, lives —

Bathed in her quiet fire.

Among millions of faces,

I no longer know which are hers.

Which pair of eyes in this world

Carry the soul

Of the one I loved.

I search still.

In train stations.

In hospitals.

In crowds.

In passing glances.

Looking for those two lotuses,

Those twin moons,

Those endless, silent, dreaming eyes.

And in that search,

I carry the dreams she used to see —

Dreams that perhaps

Will never be fulfilled,

That will never find ground

To flower or fade.

They now live within me —

Not as blossoms,

But as thorns.

And all my life,

They will pierce me softly.

Quietly.

Eternally.

In the name of love,

And in memory

Of eyes

Like still, deep lakes.